Danse Macabre
by Mouserocks-nerd
Summary: Richard Castle always had a strong belief in the Universe. Before all this had happened, he'd have said that the day he met Kate Beckett was the end of life as he knew it. But observers would tell you that it was merely the first day of the end of Richard Castle's life. He never thought destiny could be so cruel. *WHAM warning, kind of*
**A/N:** I know, I know. No more new stories. I promised to finish the old ones first. Sorry. New job, plus finishing off another degree certificate = no mas time for Mouse. But, what's the harm in writing a little fiction in response to a lightning bolt idea? Huh? You get a story, I get a little bit of fun. We all go home. :P Hopefully I will finish another fic before posting this one, but if I didn't have the patience and this ends up posting first, I apologize. I also apologize if this spurs its own plotline. It originally spurred out of all season 8's problems, but now that Stana's NOT COMING BACK... *$%# &* !#! Sorry. So, I've decided to embrace the burn like alcohol and crank out this maybe bitter-sweet story.

Also, as one last side-note, did anybody else just notice that the promo/cover shot for this season (of them lying on the asphalt), Beckett is lying in the same shape as the chalk outline of the dead body? O.O ! Just saying.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Castle. I'll prove it! *empty pockets* Also, this story may contain spoilers through currently aired episodes. I am glad they're sort of getting things back on track relationship-wise, but I'm nervous. This story is a bit to rectify all the chaos, and mostly, to make peace with it. Enjoy!

* * *

 _October 2009_

Richard Castle jolted awake in a sheer panic. Pulse racing, lungs heaving, sweat drenched, and head pounding with a roaring headache. His hands flew up to cradle his head on both sides. Good lord, what sort of nightmare was that?! He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes, and the darkness of the room slowly gave way to general forms in the dim light slats sifting through his closed blinds. He groaned, rolling over to burrow into his pillow.

Images flashed back at him from beneath his eyelids. The glint of a sharp knife at the haze of sunset. Detective Beckett, with long hair cascading over his bare chest; then, hair pulled back in a severe knot, looking at him as though he were responsible for her every heartbreak. Images he didn't recognize, people he hadn't met before. Chaos. Blood.

He huffed an indignant sigh. His imagination was on the run again, changing Detective Beckett's hair style and color even. But the images were haunting him now, and Richard knew he wouldn't get an ounce more of sleep if he fought it. Might as well get up, maybe start some writing. Maybe it was fuel for a potential Nikki Heat book.

Rolling out of bed, Richard swiped his smart phone off his nightstand and used it to navigate his way into his office carefully. With a practiced flick he booted up his laptop, and as the blue light of his screen loaded, he toyed with the idea of lengthening Nikki's hair. Beckett looked _really good_ with that long, golden-brown hair, even better since it was resting on top of his bare skin. Oh, and _her_ bare skin. Mmm.

The machine came to life, and he quickly found his way to a new document file, to be stored away for notes. His fingers flew over the keys almost blindly, mostly random strings of thoughts keyed together in one loose paragraph of content.

He hit return a couple of times and suddenly paused. Fingers poised above the keyboard, waiting. The dream was slipping away from him, he could feel it. But...

He didn't have a name yet.

He'd just settled on Nikki Heat yesterday. He barely had any scraps of characters beyond _her_ , although he knew he wanted a love interest. If he was being honest and selfish, yes, he wanted it to be a character based on him. So, a name he needed. For whatever reason, the only name he could come up with was his given name, Rodgers. And no way could he see someone like Kate B— Nikki Heat with a guy named Roger or any variation thereof.

Frustration began fraying the edges of his nerves, and the dream continued to push further away from him. The knife glinted in his mind's eye once more, and, damn it all to hell, he just started writing.

 _"The day Richard Castle first laid eyes on Detective Beckett was like any other day, in all ways but one. She was fierce, beautiful, commanding, powerful. He was awestruck, charming, mischievous. They were two sides of the same coin. He'd say that the day he met Kate Beckett was the end of his life as he knew it, but observers would tell you that it was merely the first day of the end of his life._ "

Rick halted, drawing his fingers away from the keys as though burned. That was a lot darker than he'd intended. He mostly wanted to get down the aspects of her hair glinting in the late morning sun, shimmering across his chest. That seemed like good, fun, descriptive detail.

He shook his head to clear it and tried again.

 _"He was her drug, she was his Kryptonite."_

He shook it again. "No," he murmured.

 _"He was her rabbit hole. She was his downfall."_

His jaw ticked out of irritation as he tried one more time.

 _"He was her sin-eater."_

"Dammit."

 _"She was his Delilah."_

Richard sighed, simply closing the window, checking the box to save out of habit before shutting down the rest of his computer. Forget it. He'd try and get a little more sleep, and maybe try for some more in the morning. Or better yet, get called in for a murder.

Dreams didn't really mean anything anyway.

* * *

May 2016

Richard Castle stared up at the expanse of sky above him, gloriously painted with the colors of a summer sunset. It was a beautiful day out. Beautiful. Just like Kate.

Kate. She was coming to meet him. At their swings. She had to be close now.

Sirens. In the distance. His first instinct said that was her, but she probably wouldn't be using them to get here of all places. Besides, she was off duty, and based on how few times she'd let him use the gumball in any situation, he knew she wouldn't abuse her power like that. Not just to meet him, her husband.

Was he her husband anymore? He wasn't sure.

A cough met with a gurgle in the back of his throat, and his whole body spasmed, flowering with pain. His eyes slammed shut tight, blocking out every wash of pink, orange, and blue above him. The pain was coming back with a vengeance. He tried to shift his attention elsewhere, to the rough texture of sidewalk concrete under one hand and the spiky texture of grass under the other. He wondered if this was how she felt, when that sniper had put a bullet through her chest. He'd been there to try and save her then. Too late, but he'd tried.

Maybe this was their curse. Too late to save each other, from everything, but they'd tried. Oh, damn, that was good. He wanted to write a new line for his tombstone.

In spite of everything, he didn't want her to have another tombstone to visit.

His limbs seized up, paralyzed with pain. He thought his brain was going to explode.

This was definitely how she felt, at the very least. Johanna. Oh— he was dying. Just like her. And it was all her fault. He got swept up in her hurricane, and now he was collateral damage.

Closer now. The sirens. A sense of unnerving peace started settling in his stomach, even as his mind flooded with pain. His eyelids were too heavy to open, and maybe that was for the best. He could pretend there was nothing to see if he kept his eyes closed. And maybe it would come true. No blood, no knife wounds, no anything.

Not long now.

Good. No one can see—

"Hurry up with that gurney!"

Shit.

Tires screeched in his ears, but for all the activity bustling around him, Richard lay deaf to it all. He had surrendered to it. The pain. The darkness.

This was really it for him.

Sounds drifted in and out of his senses. Hands flurried around him, unnoticed. Blackness began claiming the rest of his senses, one by one...

"NYPD, let me through. What's going on here?"

Rick felt his gut clench up as that voice, the one he didn't want it to be. But of course she'd get here just in time for this.

"Ma'am, please, we need you to—"

A gasp. "Rick?!"

Miraculously, he lifted his eyelids, and there she was. Hair pulled back in a severe knot, face pale with shock. Still beautiful. Even with tears streaming down her face, fighting against the line of EMT's.

His eyes started to feel heavy again.

"Stop it! Let me through! That's my husband! Rick! Stay with me. Castle? Castle?!"

And before anything else could happen, Rick drifted into the black abyss.

* * *

Whiteness.

Sheer, blinding, white light. Everywhere. It invaded all of his senses, bringing with it a sharp ringing sound and a dull thud of pain. He jolted awake, body thrumming with adrenaline in spite of his complete lethargy a few moments before. Was it only moments? Or was it longer? Where was he?

The sound ringing in his ears slowly cleared up, and he was able to make out a voice of sorts. He couldn't make out whose voice it was exactly, but the words slowly came into focus.

"Eight... you hear...? 'llo? Richard..."

Castle shook his head sharply, trying to adjust. He couldn't figure out where the sound was coming from, it was so blindingly bright. It was almost nauseating.

"... eight minutes, Richard. All you got. Eight minutes in here before you're toast, so you need to snap out of it fast."

"What?" Rick croaked, throat hoarse. He was surprised by the echo he got in response. Where on earth was he?

"There's no time to— ugh. Fine. Here's the rundown. You are dying right now."

Castle's eyes bolted open as the words triggered something and it opened the floodgates for memories. He'd been stabbed. He was lying on the concrete. Bleeding out. Kate's fault. "What— how...?"

"You have eight minutes until you die unless you work with me here. We might be able to fix this."

He finally rests his eyes on the man's face only to be surprised to recognize his— albeit much younger— maternal grandfather. "I... Grandpa? How?"

He jerked his head to the side. "No time. Ever hear about someone's life flashing before their eyes?"

Rick nods in return, the movement sharp, terse. There wasn't time to waste it seemed.

"It's a little different than that. Point is: you've got three chances. Three chances to go back, view a day of your life, and try to change something about the outcome."

Ricks brow furrowed. "I don't understand. How am I supposed to do that?"

The man sighed and tossed his hands up, exasperated. "Never could just take someone's word for it, could you, Ricky? Fine. It's easier to show you than to explain."

"Show me wha-ahh—"

The ground seemed to lurch underneath him, swaying back and forth, and his limbs felt like they were being torn apart in four different directions. The nauseous feeling was back again. But before anything more could happen, the white of the space slowly started to fade away and the familiar walls of his apartment dripped into view around him. He shuddered, not understanding. This was a concept even beyond his own imagination.

He looked over to his bed, only to find a much younger version of himself in it, wrapped around some leggy blonde, soundly sleeping away.

What the hell was going on?

* * *

 **A/N:** Review please! I hope to have time to respond to all of them, and hopefully post another chapter. I only intend on making this 4 chapters as of right now, and it's all charted out in my mind. The time is going to be the crux of the issue. After the end of this semester, I'll be returning to Live Fast Die Young, which is also in the works. I know you all probably don't trust me, but I love you too much to let it go completely. 3


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